


bronze

by unicornball



Series: Colors [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: DWRColorsChallenge, M/M, Mild Language, Winged Dean, curse objects
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-04
Updated: 2016-10-04
Packaged: 2018-08-19 12:11:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8207227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unicornball/pseuds/unicornball
Summary: Dean told Sam poking around the Men of Letters storage rooms was a bad idea. He'd said it every time Sam came up from the basement with a dusty box and that geeked out, excited expression on his face.





	

**Author's Note:**

> _Today's color:_  
>  Bronze  
> bronze (brŏnz)
> 
> A metallic yellowish-brown color
> 
> _This fic will also include the Mythical Monday, in a way. It's time for some magically-cursed-with-wings Dean!_
> 
> _Enjoy._

Dean _told_ Sam poking around the Men of Letters storage rooms was a bad idea. He'd said it every time Sam came up from the basement with a dusty box and that geeked out, excited expression on his face. He'd sigh and roll his eyes but he'd always helped Sam paw through the box, helping his gihugic nerd of a brother catalog whatever he found.

He looked around, the stupid fucking artifact responsible for this whole clusterfuck still in his hand. It was lightweight wood, carved crudely enough he’d had to pick it up to tell what it was.

Which lead to this whole... thing. He startled when his weight shifted suddenly, awkward and jerky, nearly falling on his face. He looked over his shoulder to see bronze feathers, wings arched stiffly with his agitation.

Great. Just great. He had freaking wings now.

 

  
}°{

 

  
Dean considered hiding in his room until be found a way to get back to normal, but he needed coffee for this shit. So, of course, Sam walked in the kitchen just as he was pouring the freshly made coffee into his favorite mug.

“Holy shit!”

Dean startled with Sam's yell, mug clattering to the counter. He spared a moment to be grateful he didn't bump it to the floor before turning and giving his brother a glare.

His nosy brother that was supposed to be out on a supply run for at least another hour. Dammit.

“Hey, Sammy,” he said in a carefully bland tone and went back to his coffee. He needed sugar today. He stirred the sugar in, ignoring the heavy feel of Sam's eyeballs on his back as he stared. But his wings were twitching and puffing a little, making it real hard to pretend this was just another Monday in the Bunker.

He turned and sipped his coffee, mentally patting himself on the back he was able to tuck his wings up and out of the way. (He might've spent a little time practicing. It was practical, okay?)

“No Tinkerbell comments, capiche?” he said, eyeing Sam over his mug. Sam blinked a few times and nodded, hands raised. He sighed when Sam's forehead scrunched with confusion, his brother's eyes darting to the wings every so often.

He braced himself for the questions.

“So,” Sam started slowly, staring at the wings twitching behind Dean. They were pretty badass, really. Huge, judging by the span he saw when Dean jumped earlier. The feathers were a rainbow of browns, but mainly a rich bronze color that sort of matched Dean's hair.

He pointed in the general direction of the impossible to ignore wings. “What happened, Dean?”

“Winchester luck,” Dean said and rolled his eyes. Then he rolled his shoulders because damn wings were heavy. He could feel them twitching again and worked on relaxing. They were damn annoying.

Sam grinned and pointed at Dean. “You were playing with the Men of Letters stuff again.”

“No,” Dean said with a scoff. “I was cataloging like you wanted me to. It ain't my fault some yahoo didn't label their shit ‘caution: may cause wings’.”

Dean glared some more when Sam only laughed at him. He figured it was better than some of the other curses they'd seen listed in the archives (boils, deadly diseases that made Ebola look like the sniffles, killer monsters), but he still had wings.

Before he could tackle his brother, Sam was clearing his throat and calling for Cas in a sing-song voice. Loudly, loud enough they probably heard the asshole in Missouri.

Dean barely even had time to put his mug down before they heard the sound of Cas’ socked feet rushing down the hall.

It wasn't like he wasn't going to tell Cas, but he'd needed some time first. Figure out how long it would last before Cas saw at invariably got—

— _that_ look on his face. Surprise, confusion and a hint of pain that made it clear his own lack of wings were still a painful subject. (Dean was pretty sure it would be for a long time. That didn't seem like the kinda thing a guy that used to be an angel of the Lord got over quickly.)

He kinda wanted to sock Sam for calling Cas and putting that look on his face.

“Hey, Cas,” he said, waving half-heartedly, breaking the awkward silence. He could feel his wings twitch and flutter, lifting off his back a little. Cas’ eyes were wide, staring at them.

Castiel shuffled into the kitchen, brushing past Sam without care. He was staring but he couldn't help it. He was only a foot away from Dean now, gaze still on the bronze feathers. They were beautiful and he could appreciate their beauty, even if it made his chest feel a little tight in a decidedly unpleasant way.

He reached out and brushed a finger over one of the shiny primaries. It was soft and warm. Dean was still, eyes wary and pained.

“What happened?” he asked, voice soft.

Dean cleared his throat, grateful Sam had slipped away at some point. Probably when Cas started fondling his feathers...

He couldn't help leaning into Cas’ touch, wing arching up without his permission. His shoulders relaxed a little when he saw the corner of Cas’ mouth twitched up in a small smile.

“Got whammied by something in the archives.”

Castiel hummed softly in understanding. They'd been working on cataloging the Men of Letters contents on their down time. He dropped his hand, preparing to step back, but Dean's wing flapped at him insistently like a pushy cat wanting a petting. He chuckled softly and went back to sliding his fingers through the feathers.

He got lost in the quiet, intimate moment. Pleased to see Dean relaxed and leaning closer. It wasn't a secret that Dean enjoyed being touched, tactile even in everyday interactions, but he didn't expect Dean to be this comfortable with the new appendages.

“How long will it last?”

  
Dean shrugged, wings fluttering gently before going lax in Cas’ hand again. “Dunno, the paper with it was all chicken scratch I couldn't read.”

Castiel hummed again, intent on finding the paper and seeing if he could understand the language. He had an idea was Enochian. But he was enjoying the quiet moment.

He looked up with surprise when Dean's hands settled on his waist, their toes nearly touching with how close Dean was standing. The look of concern made him smile a little and wrap his arms around Dean, being careful of the wings.

“It's okay,” Castiel murmured, touched Dean would be aware of his possible discomfort. He was okay, though. He did miss his own wings, of course, but he'd made peace with it long ago.

He sunk into the hug, humming softly as Dean's hands slid down his back in comfort. He pressed a soft kiss to the spot behind Dean's ear and leaned back.

“Let's go see if we can figure this out,” Castiel said, sliding a hand down Dean's arm to link their fingers. He huffed a soft laugh when he felt the soft brush of feathers on his shoulder.

He let Dean lead the way, seeing the small figure and piece of rolled parchment next to it sitting on the middle of the table.

Dean stood as patiently as he could as Cas picked up with paper, eyes squinted (making a mental note to get him some reading glasses) as he read. He realized he was standing close, wing draped over Cas’ shoulder, when Cas shifted his weight and pressed closer.

“The effects should wear off within the next forty-two hours,” Castiel said, putting the parchment down.

He eyed Dean shrewdly, “Why didn't you wear gloves?” he asked. By now they've all gotten in the habit of wearing gloves when sorting and cataloging. Not many items were dangerous to the touch, but enough were to make it a smart precaution.

Dean huffed and ended up thwacking the back of Cas’ head playfully with a wing. He'd forgotten, okay? Cas didn't have to be a little shit about it.

“So,” he said, ignoring the question, “nearly two days, huh?” Cas nodded and he grinned. “Wanna groom me?” he asked with a suggestive eyebrow dance.

Castiel just laughed but he was quite sure he'd have a hard time saying no.


End file.
